


a pulse in every line

by thetruthmayvary



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:41:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2424035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetruthmayvary/pseuds/thetruthmayvary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's a writer. Everything else comes second to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i wear the universe backwards

“When was the last time you left this shithole?”

Harry pretends he didn’t hear Niall’s question, partly because he just called his place a shithole, and partly because he has no idea what the answer is.

Niall looks around the room, his face scrunched in half disgust, half admiration for the amount of fucks not given. Harry looks back at the screen of his laptop, reading the last sentence he wrote. He has no idea where he was headed with that.

Niall sits down across from him at the tiny kitchen table. “Seriously, mate, you need to get out more. And maybe, shower a tad more often. A haircut wouldn’t hurt, either.”

“I don’t stink. And my hair’s fine.”

“Do you even write anything?Or do you just stare at the screen and drink coffee religiously and bite your nails like you’re doing right now?”

“Why are you here?” Harry’s been wanting to ask him this since he opened the front door, but he was trying to be polite. He feels that the time for politeness has passed.

“Because you don’t go anywhere. How else am I supposed to see you? And I’m kind of worried you’re losing your mind.”

“I’m fine. I just want to finish this.” He’s lying. He doesn’t want to finish it. What would he do then? He just wants to keep on working on until it start making sense. But Niall wouldn’t understand. Harry barely does himself.

“Well, are you close?”

“Close enough.

“Can I get a deadline?”

Harry doesn’t even justify him with an answer. He just frowns at him, and Niall, a jerk that he is, laughs.

“Louis’ been asking about you. He told me the other day that he misses having you around.”

Harry almost laughs at Niall’s attempt to use Louis to try and get him out of the apartment. He should know that that candle burnt out long ago. And you can’t light up anything with a burnt candle.

“He’ll live,” is all Harry says.

“You’re really annoying, you know.”

“Sure,” Harry says, not really certain what he’s agreeing with.

He starts a new paragraph. He writes: _When the old you and the new you collide, the old one wanting to hold on to what sustained you and the new one wanting to get rid of what’s destroying you. The trouble is, of course, the two things being indistinguishable._

 

-

 

London’s funny. When Harry came to live here when he was 16, he felt like he belonged straight away. There are always so many newcomers and so many tourists, and when you’re both, you fit in perfectly. Now that he has been living here for almost 5 years, he feels completely alienated from the city. London’s always alive, and sometimes Harry wishes it wasn’t. He wishes it was muted.

Like now, trying to exit the tube station at Trafalgar’s. It would be so much easier if there was no one around. But instead, his ears are pierced with the sound of chatter, a child screaming, some Italian guy asking for directions in Italian. _Just follow the crowd_ , he wants to say to him. He doesn’t, though, because his Italian is not that advanced.

He’s trying to remember the quote that Niall tried to use to get him to leave the flat after his Louis card failed. _It’s so vain to sit down to write when you haven’t stood up to live_. Or something like that. It’s complete crap, of course. For most people living is easier than writing. But not for everyone.

It made him smile, though, imagining Niall googling some deep shit to get through to him. That image is the main reason he’s here. That, and the conclusion that if he meets them, they might leave him alone for a while.

The square is full of people. It’s a sunny day in September, and people are taking advantage of the treat. More than half of them are tourists. Harry’s wondering again why they had to meet here.

He walks towards the fourth plinth, where the blue cock is still standing. He realizes he wouldn’t even be surprised if there was another piece there. He really hasn’t been here in a long time.

Niall and Liam are already waiting for him there. Liam’s grown a beard.

“There he is!” Liam yells and hugs him. Niall just pats him on the back once and says “I’m just glad you didn’t burn in the sun.”

Harry manages a smile for Liam but ignores Niall. “Where are we going?”

“A pub. Just 10 minutes’ walk,” Niall answers with a grin.

Harry decides to withhold that there are plenty of pubs in his neighbourhood they could’ve gone too.

“So how are you? I haven’t seen you in ages,” Liam asks once they start walking in the direction Niall pointed at.

“I’m fine.” Liam’s looking at him expectedly. He wants a longer answer.

“How are you?” Harry asks instead.

“Good. Sophia and I are thinking of moving in together, we’ve just started looking for apartments last week. The store is not doing that well, but I’m sure Niall already told you about it.

Niall didn’t tell him anything, but then again, Harry didn’t ask. He feels a slight pinch of guilt, but it’s gone as soon as Niall opens his mouth and the words “You’re going to like this place. Louis started working there a month ago, before that I didn’t even know it existed” come out.

“Louis works there?”

“You didn’t tell him?” Liam scoffs Niall.

Niall shrugs, “I forgot.”

“It’s fine,” Harry says. And it is. Except for the fact that Niall tricked him into seeing Louis.

“We can go somewhere else if you want,” Liam offers. Harry should be grateful for his offer, instead he feels angry that Liam thinks he’s so weak. He needs his laptop and a desk.

“No, we can’t, I already told Lou we’re coming.”

“Its fine,” Harry says again. “I don’t care if he’s there.”

“Don’t say that to his face,” Niall laughs. “He’s really looking forward to seeing you, you cunt.”

Harry doesn’t understand why. He didn’t get a feeling that Louis was happy to see him even when they were dating. If what they had can even be called “dating”.

They reach the pub, and it’s a cute looking, old-fashioned one. Not really the type he would expect to find Louis working at.

They find a table and Louis is standing next to it in less than a minute.

“Styles, what an honour,” he says with a smirk and luckily Harry’s already sitting down. He hopes Louis doesn’t expect him to stand up and greet him.

“Hey, Louis.”

“Hey, Louis? I haven’t seen you in 5 months and that’s all you have to say to me?”

“What do you want me to say?” Harry asks. He’s starting to get annoyed. He wishes he’d taken Liam up on his suggestion that they go somewhere else.

“Maybe an explanation on why you were avoiding me for so long?”

“He’s been avoiding everyone. Don’t take it personally,” Niall says. But Harry knows Louis, he knows that he takes everything personally. If you’re close to him, you’re a reflection of him. And he’ll get mad at you if you don’t respect that.

“Can we order?” Harry asks and Louis takes that personally, too.

“Sure,” he says, his lips tight.

They all order a pint, and Niall and Liam order something to eat as well. Harry makes up an excuse that he’s eaten before he met up with them.

He wants to ask Liam about the store not doing well, but he doesn’t want to let him know that Niall hasn’t mention it. He hopes he’ll mention something about it himself, but he never does. He just talks about Sophia and their apartment search. It’s funny how much more Harry cares about his music store than his love life.

Louis gets them their drinks and then food, but he doesn’t stick around. He says he’s busy. Harry’s completely fine with that.

Liam asks him how his book is going. Harry says it’s doing fine. He notices that’s he’s using the word _fine_ too often. He needs to add some _okay_ ’s and _good_ ’s in there. Maybe even some _great_ ’s. Liam looks like he wants to ask something else about it, but then gives up. Harry’s grateful.

After an hour, he says he needs to head back home. He doesn’t bother with an excuse, they know he has nowhere else to be anyway.

When he gets home, he sits at his laptop and writes another independent paragraph that he doesn’t know how to integrate into the story of Alec. But it’s alright, as long as he’s writing.

_You’re not like me. You look at them and you wonder why they bother. I look at them and I wonder why they don’t try harder. Not because of you, but because of them. What is it that keeps them hanging on, but not pulling themselves all the way up? It’s inexplicable to the both of us. You would just have them let go._

_You’re not like me, but you’re not like them either._


	2. i imagine putting stars in my coffee and sugar in the sky

Harry wakes up to the sounds of someone banging on his door. He takes a peek at the alarm clock on his nightstand and sees that it’s 11 am. He gets up and puts on a pair of sweats. He’s still rubbing his eyes when he opens the door.

There’s a kid standing there. He looks familiar, Harry thinks and then realizes that it’s the kid from the apartment across from his.

“Hi,” the little boy says.

“Hi,” Harry responds.

“Do you know where my mum is?” The kid’s eyes are shiny, but he’s not crying. _Not yet_ , Harry thinks with horror.

“No?”

“I thought she would be home.”

“And she's not?”

“Obviously not,” the boy says a little rudely.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Harry asks, even though he’s not completely sure the kid’s old enough for school. He looks about 6, though, so he’s giving it a go.

“I was, but I left. Can I wait for my mum in here?”

Harry looks at the kid, and then back at his apartment. He doesn’t think the two go together all that well.

“I guess,” he says anyway, because what else is he supposed to say? “Don’t you have a key?”

“No.”

“Well, do you have a phone?” It seems that these days kids get smartphones as soon as they learn how to speak. So this kid should have one.

“No,” the kid says despite Harry’s logic.

“Do you know your mum’s number? I have a phone, so you could call her.”

“No,” he says for the third time. “But I know it starts with a 0.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to help us much.”

“Then I’ll just wait,” the kid concludes, shrugging his tiny shoulders.

Great.

The kid sits on the couch and grabs the remote. He turns the TV on and flips through the channels. Harry doesn’t know what to do. How is his mum even supposed to know that he’s in here when she comes back from wherever the hell she’s at? He should leave a note on their door. He says “I’ll be right back” to the kid, and grabs a post it note and a pen from his desk. He puts it on the door across from his and writes down _your kid’s at the apartment 5c_. He should’ve asked him for his name. It would’ve looked nicer than _your kid_.

Once he’s back at his apartment he walks towards the armchair slowly and takes a sit. The kid’s still flipping through the channels.

“What’s your name?” he asks him.

“Barry,” Barry says without looking away from the TV.

“Cool. I’m Harry. Our names rhyme.”

“What does rhyme means?”

“It means they end in the same syllable. Barry – Harry. It sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“I guess,” the kid says, not at all impressed with rhyme it seems.

“So why did you run away from school?”

“I didn’t run. I walked.”

“Okay. I meant, why did you leave?”

“It was boring. Why aren’t you in school?”

“I don’t go to school anymore. I finished it.”

That information gains Barry’s attention. It’s seems as if he thought school goes on forever.

“So what do you do now?”

“I write.”

“But that’s what you have to do in school. And you finished school.”

“I still do it, though.”

“Why?”

“It’s fun,” Harry half lies.

“Don’t you have a job?”

“Writing is my job.”

“It’s a lousy one, then. You look poor.”

“Thanks,” Harry says. Barry stares at him suspiciously, so Harry concludes he hasn’t mastered sarcasm yet.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Barry, who seemingly likes to ask a lot questions, asks.

“No,” Harry answers, unable to supress a laugh. “Do you?”

“No,” Barry says too quickly. “But you’re old, you should have one.”

“I’m not old. And maybe I don’t want one.”

“Maybe you could date my mum.”

Harry laughs, but is a little bit proud of himself. If this kid is offering his mum to him, it must mean he likes him.

“My mum’s pretty,” Barry claims, interpreting Harry’s laughter as an insult.

“She is,” Harry agrees, remembering seeing her in the hallway. She’s very young, can’t be much older than him. “But I think I would be completely wrong for her.”

“Because you’re poor?”

This kid is really pushing it. “What makes you think I’m poor?”

“You don’t have an Xbox. Or a shirt. And your hair is too long.”

“I own shirts. Plenty of them. And maybe my hair’s long because I like it that way.”

Barry doesn’t look convinced. He’s still flipping through channels. Every time he finds a cartoon he gives it a go for about 3 seconds then skips through it as well. Harry can’t decide if he likes his indecisiveness or if he finds it annoying.

“Do you think my mum will be mad?” he asks, after deciding yet another cartoon is not worth his time.

“That you’re skipping class and you’re only in the first grade? She might be.”

“I’m in second grade!”

“Sorry, but that doesn’t change much.”

“You’re rude,” Barry says with pouty lips.

“So are you.”

“I’m not,” he says, just as the doorbell rings. Harry hopes it’s his mum.

He opens the door and it’s definitely not his mum.

“Hi. I think my son’s here?” A guy, a really good looking guy, asks.

“Yeah, he’s right there,” Harry says nervously and lets the guy into his apartment. He suddenly wishes he kept it a bit cleaner.

“Dad!” Barry shouts and runs into the guy’s arms.

“Hey, kid,” the guy says, picking him up and looking relieved to have him in his arms. “You scared us, you know. You can’t just run off like that.”

“I thought mum was home,” Barry defends. “Where is she?”

“She had go to work early. I was supposed to pick you up after school.” The guy pays his attention to Harry then. First to his naked, tattooed torso and then to his face.

“Thanks for letting him wait in here. And keeping an eye for him. I’m Zayn by the way.”

“Harry. And it’s no problem. Barry’s an alright kid.”

“Barry?” Zayn laughs. “His name’s Aiden actually, he just wishes it was Barry.”

“Why Barry?” Harry asks Barry. Aiden, that is.

“Barry Allen,” the kid says simply.

“The Flash?”

“Yes!” Aiden says, looking thrilled that Harry knows who Barry Allen is.

“Cool,” Harry concludes. He looks back at Zayn who’s smiling. He has a nice smile. He shouldn’t think about that. Not about his nice smile, or his cheekbones or tattooed arms. The guy has a kid. Meaning he’s probably straight.

“We’re going to go now,” Zayn announces. “I don’t want to bother you any longer.”

“Dad, do you think Harry should date mum?” Barry asks before Harry has a chance to say that they’re not bothering him. He can feel the embarrassment reaching his cheeks. Why’s this kid asking his dad this?

Zayn on the other hand, doesn’t look fazed by the question at all. “I don’t know, Aid. I think that’s on the two of them to decide.”

“But he should cut his hair before he asks her out.”

“Aiden! Don’t be rude,” Zayn says, but Harry’s laughing. At least he didn’t call him poor again.

“We should really go. Thanks for everything,” Zayn says and this time Harry manages to say that it’s not a problem.

When they leave, Harry takes a shower and grabs a bowl of cereal. For some reason, he decides to clean up the apartment a bit after that. He ends up doing a really superficial job at it, but he thinks he deserves points for trying.

It’s 2 pm when he finally sits behind his laptop. He’s distracted, he has no idea what to write. He rereads the last few pages. He thought they were really good when he wrote them yesterday. He kind of wants to delete them all now. He still doesn’t, because he rarely deletes anything. He edits, but doesn’t delete. That’s why the whole thing is such a mess.

Instead, he decides to make Alec reflect on the love interest he gave him two days ago.

_It’s not that she doesn’t appeal to me, because she does, immensely, but I don’t know her. I don’t know why she appeals to me, and I need to know why. That’s the question behind my every thought, every action, every mistake. If I’m screwing up I need to know why I’m screwing up. And if she’s going to take part in my life, take a little bit of me like everyone always does, I need to know why I’m letting her. Otherwise, it’s all pointless. I know that you can’t understand, you love pointless. Okay, maybe love is too strong of a term, but you endure it. While I’d search the entire world for an answer, you’d stay where you are, doing what you’re doing, and you’d endure the not knowing._

_I crave for the “why”. I need to get to know her._

 

-

 

Liam’s calling him for the third time now. If he calls him once more, he’ll have to answer. He has this rule about the fourth call. Not so much as a rule, but the fourth call is usually the one that makes him wonder if someone’s dead or something’s on fire.

6 minutes later, there it is. The fourth call. Damn it.

“Hello?” It’s the first time he spoke out loud today. His voice is hoarse.

“Harry?” Liam’s voice is calm.

“Hey, Liam. What’s going on?”

“Why weren’t you answering?”

Why does he have to ask that? It’s like he’s begging him to lie.

“I was in the shower,” Harry indulges.

“Okay,” Liam says, like he actually believes him. “I was wondering if you wanted to come to our house welcoming party tonight. I know you told Niall you don’t, but I was hoping you changed your mind.”

Of course he hasn’t changed his mind. And if Liam didn’t sound so damn polite and honest he could let him know that.

“Please, Harry? Sophia really wants you to come, too.”

Sophia has literally seen him twice in her life. Harry doubts she gives a fuck about him. But Liam is really hard to say no to.

“Fine. What time should I be there?”

“8. I’ll text you the address,” Liam says cheerfully. “And I’m really glad you’re coming.”

That makes one of us, Harry thinks as he says “Okay” and hangs up. He’s kind of pissed. Not pissed at Liam, just generally pissed. He met him and Niall hoping they would leave him alone for a while, and it’s been two weeks and now he has to meet them again. At a fucking house warming party. And who manages to find an apartment and move into it in two weeks’ time, anyway?

He’s carrying his laptop to the kitchen table when he realizes he’ll probably be expected to bring a gift. He quickly decides that he’s just going to give them the box of chocolates Aiden’s mum got him day before yesterday as a thank you for looking after her son. It’s not really a proper house warming gift, but it’ll do.

He doesn’t really write much that afternoon. He tries, but he’s feeling anxious about tonight and anxiety has never been a good muse.

He’s late for the party. He had to stop at a gas station along the way to fill up his tank, and it took him about 10 minutes to find a parking spot, but that’s not why he’s late. He’s not going to lie to himself.

Liam opens the door for him. He’s wearing a plaid button down and he trimmed his beard. He takes a quick looked at Harry’s worn, black t-shirt and uncombed hair but doesn’t say anything. He hugs him and invites him inside. He thanks him for the chocolate.

The apartment is small, almost as small as Harry’s, but it’s full of people. Sophia comes to greet him. She kisses him on the cheek and thanks him for coming. She smells really nice, Harry notices. Unlike the apartment, which has apparently already taken on the smell of too many people squeezed in a room that’s too small.

Liam leaves to get him a beer while Sophia takes on the task of introducing him to her friends. Harry doesn’t remember the name of any of them. He tries at first, but there’s too many, and they all kind of look alike.

He’s really glad when Liam comes back with his beer. Though he feels he’s going to need something a bit stronger if he’s going to endure the night. He’s only taken two sips when Niall appears by his side.

“Harry! You little cunt! You told me you weren’t coming.” He’s talking really loudly and smiling maniacally so Harry concludes that he’s already had quite a few pints.

“Yeah, well. I’m here.”

“I can see that,” Niall says and puts an arm around his shoulder. “Guess who else is here?”

Harry doesn’t need to guess because at that precise moment Louis comes into the living room. He’s not surprised, he expected him to be here. What he didn’t expect, however, was for Louis to wink and smile at him from across the room.

Niall taps him on the shoulder. “You should go say hi.”

“I’m fine right here, thanks,” Harry says and Niall rolls his eyes.

“Something is seriously wrong with you, do you know that?”

“Sometimes,” Harry says, too quietly for Niall to hear him, because he knows Niall wasn’t looking for an answer to that question.

Niall rolls his eyes again and starts a conversation with one of Sophia’s girlfriends. She laughs at his jokes too loudly, and Harry hears that as his cue to leave. He heads to the kitchen to get himself a shot of something. There’s a lot of wine and a lot of beer there, and he can’t seem to find anything else. He pours himself a glass of white wine while he’s looking. He hasn’t drunk wine in years. He forgot how pointless it tastes – it can’t satisfy your thirst like beer can and it doesn’t burn and numb like hard liquor does.

He smiles when he finally finds a bottle of Jack Daniels. He pours two fingers of it and drinks about half. He knows he’s going to get drunk. He wants to. He hasn’t been drunk in months, and he’s just realizing that he’s missed it. Alcohol is amazing at killing anxiety.

He’s filling his glass again when he hears Louis’ voice behind him.

“Sharing is caring, Harry,” he says, finds an empty glass and holds it up for Harry to fill.

“A little boring, isn’t it?” Louis asks after he’s had a taste of the whiskey.

“What?”

“This party,” Louis explains what was obvious to him.

“You’re not really a good judge of that.”

“Why not?”

“Everything’s boring to you,” Harry says with Jack’s encouragement.

Louis stares at him for a few seconds before saying “You’re not.”

Harry laughs. He’s mostly laughing at the old him, who would’ve wanted to take those three words coming out of Louis’ mouth and frame them on his wall.

He drinks a little bit more of his encouragement. “But you are. You’re so fucking predictable.”

Louis look offended, which Harry finds perfectly normal, seeing as to him _boring_ must be the worst thing someone could call him.

Yet, he doesn’t leave or yell or say something hurtful. He lowers his glass on the table and kisses him. It’s not gentle, it’s too much tongue and too much teeth and Harry knows he’s only doing it to prove just how unpredictable he is. He still lets him do it, though.

When Louis ends it, he smiles and leaves the kitchen. He thinks he’s won. Harry lets him do that as well, because his game is tiring.

He spends another half an hour in the kitchen, drinking by himself. Liam comes in once and tries to get him to join them in the living room. Harry tells him he will as soon as he finishes his drink. But he doesn’t. It takes a really drunk Niall threating he’s going to convince everyone to move the party into the kitchen to get him out.

“Louis’ gone,” Niall says when he sees Harry scanning the room.

“Okay,” Harry says, wondering if it would be acceptable for him to leave, as well. Then he remembers that he’s driven here, and he’s had too much to drink to drive back. He could take a cab and come get his car tomorrow.

“Harry, right?” One of Sophia’s friends ask. She looks friendly enough, but she just ruined his plan of a quick escape.

“Yeah,” he says. He doesn’t ask for her name. He just pretends like he knows it and there’s no point in repeating it.

“You’re Liam’s friend from college?”

“Yes.”

“And I’m Sophia’s friend from college,” she says with a laugh. Harry has to try really hard to restrain himself from a sarcastic comment.

“I’m going to go get a drink,” he says instead and goes back into the kitchen. The Jack is gone, so he pours himself a glass of wine and finishes it instantly. He finds Liam and tells him he’s going to go. After assuring him he’s not going to drive, he leaves the apartment and gets a cab.

When he gets home, his head is spinning. He suddenly wishes he had a dog. Some kind of creature to welcome him home. But not a human creature.

He sits down to write. He only writes this five sentences. He rereads them and edits them the next day.

_It’s like every part of your body is drunk except for your mind. Your mind, instead, feels free. Your mind is floating beyond those boundaries set upon your legs. Neither of them can be tamed, but the first one doesn’t crave to be. That’s the crucial difference._


	3. i imagine going fishing in clouds,  and watching the sun hide  behind lakes

_She was laughing at my joke the first time I saw her. Not something I’m usually impressed with, but her laugh silenced everybody else’s. Hers was sincere, and it conquered the forced ones. I looked at her and felt only amusement. Love at first sight is something only fools believe is possible. Fools and poets who need something to write about._

Harry saves the changes and closes the document window. He needs to hurry or he’ll be late for his meeting with Ed.

Ed works for his publisher and Harry‘s been postponing meeting him for about two weeks now, ever since Liam’s party, basically.

He knows how that conversation is going to go down, and he would rather not have to live through it. But Ed’s persistent, or just doesn’t want to get fired, for which Harry can’t blame him, and he couldn’t make up any more excuses.

He’s meeting him at a coffee shop near his building. It’s the one he used to get coffee at in the mornings before he started making his own at home.

Ed’s already there when Harry walks in, looking all business like in his suit and tie.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Ed says when Harry sits down on a cushioned chair. The shop hasn’t changed at all since Harry stopped coming here. It still smells like wood and there are a lot of books on the randomly placed shelves on the wall. It’s cosy and rarely crowded, and Harry loved that about it.

“Sure,” Harry says, even though he has a feeling Ed was being sarcastic with his thanks.

“So,” Ed starts.

“So,” Harry repeats.

“When are we going to see the first draft?” He accompanies the question with a smile. His smile doesn’t change Harry’s answer.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Harry, you got a really nice advance on this. And you look like hell, which I imagine means that you have been sitting by your desk, working on this. I didn’t give you a deadline, I know you hate deadlines, but Addison wants to see something. She wants me to give her some briefing, and I can’t do that when I haven’t read a word of this thing.”

“It’s not ready, Ed.”

Harry knows that Ed’s been fair to him. He knows that he’s lucky, and that the chances of getting a book deal on a yet no existent book are slim, to put it mildly, even if your first two novels did sell great.

“It doesn’t need to be ready for publishing, it’s just a draft.”

“It’s not draft ready yet, either.”

“You didn’t even give us a title. A summary. Nothing.”

“I know.”

“Not even a title Harry!”

“It’s not like my last books” is all Harry can think of saying. _There so much more of me in it_ he keeps to himself.

“It doesn’t have to be. It just needs to be good.”

Ed says those words like it’s a tea that just needs two table spoons of sugar. Like it’s that simple. But in this case the tea’s poisonous and sweetening it just makes it more deadly.

“I believe in you, Harry. Don’t let me down,” Ed says.

Harry nods. He hopes Ed doesn’t take that as a promise.

“So. A draft. Two weeks, okay? It that going to be enough?”

“Yes,” Harry says. He’s lying, but he has two weeks to worry about that.

“Okay, great. And don’t worry about the title. We can think of one when I read the draft,” Ed says and winks at him. Like Harry would actually let him think of the title.

“I have to go now, I have another meeting. I’ll call you next week to see how it’s going, yeah?”

“Okay,” Harry says as Ed gets up and pats him on the shoulder. He realizes they didn’t even order anything. The service is even slower than it used to be. Still, he decides that he’s going to get a coffee. He waves to the waitress to get her attention and orders a latte. He gets up to explore the shelf above his head. He pulls out _Hero of our time_ , by Lermontov. He loves Russian romanticism. He starts reading while he’s waiting for his latte.

He used to hate and love Pechorin at the same time, as he’s pretty sure you’re supposed to with Byronic heroes, now he just pities him. The way he turns his strengths into faults, his blessings into curses. It’s nothing to be admired or loathed, just pitied.

The waitress brings him his coffee. It tastes better than he remembers.

“Harry, right?” Someone says in a familiar voice. Harry looks up to see Zayn standing there. He’s smiling at him.

“Yeah, hi,” he says, sitting up straight.

“Is the sit taken?

Harry shakes his head no.

“Do you mind?” Zayn asks.

“No, sit,” Harry says and Zayn obliges.

Harry lays the book he’s still holding on the table. He would’ve found what Zayn just did rude if he wasn’t so hot. He’s having a hard time looking past his hotness.

“You come here a lot?” Zayn asks just as the waitress comes over to take his order. It didn’t take her a whole century this time. Zayn orders a tea and looks back at Harry, waiting for an answer.

“I used to,” Harry says.

“Got sick of it?” Zayn laughs.

“Sort of.”

“Aiden told me you’re a writer.”

“Yeah.”

“So I googled you,” Zayn says seriously.

Harry didn’t see that one coming. “You googled me?”

“Yeah, you being my kid’s neighbour and all. If I can find some information on you, I’m going to do it.”

“And what did you find?

“You write children’s books. You seem pretty harmless.”

Harry laughs. ”I _used_ to write children’s books.”

“What do you write now?”

“Not children’s books.”

“Very informative,” Zayn says and Harry decides that he likes him. And not just his hotness.

“It’s the best definition I can give you,” he tells him and Zayn stares at him with his brown eyes like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“Then I’ll accept it,” he concludes. He gets his tea. He thanks the waitress but doesn’t touch it.

“Aiden told Perrie you’re going to ask her out on a date.”

It takes Harry a second to figure out who’s Perrie. “Did he?”

“Yeah, he really likes you. I bought him one of your books. Perrie’s reading it to him as a goodnight story.”

Harry feels like that’s too much information.

“I’m not going to ask Perrie out,” he says because he really doesn’t feel comfortable with Zayn thinking this.

“Don’t hold back on my account,” Zayn says and laughs like he’s laughing at some inside joke he shares with himself.

“I’m not, I’m gay,” Harry explains.

“Oh,” Zayn says. “Interesting.”

“Why is that interesting?”

“Because Perrie said you were and I didn’t believe her.”

Harry’s having a really hard time understanding Zayn’s relationship with his ex-wife. Assuming she’s his ex-wife.

“Well she was right,” he says, deciding he’s going to leave. Zayn’s starting to annoy him. Or maybe he’s just annoyed at how attracted he is to him.

He gets out his money to pay for the latte.

“Don’t, it’s on me. I still owe you for taking care of Aiden that day,” Zayn says.

“You don’t owe me,” Harry responds, thinking of that box of chocolates Perrie got him.

Zayn smiles. ”I’m still paying for that latte.”

“Okay. I’ll see you later, I guess.” He starts to get up to leave when Zayn says “About that, what do you think of Friday?”

Is he asking what he thinks of Friday as a day of a week or is he actually asking him out?

“What?“ is all he manages as a response.

“We should do something on Friday,” Zayn says like it’s clear as day. “Get something to eat. Watch a movie. Kayaking. Whatever we’ll feel like doing.”

“You and me?” Harry needs to make sure.

“Yes,” Zayn says.

“Okay,” Harry finally agrees and Zayn smiles that smile of his again and asks for his number so they can set the thing up.

Harry leaves the coffee shop feeling nervous. But cheerful. It feels new, but he knows it’s just forgotten.

When he gets back to his apartment, he digs up his own copy of _Hero of our time_ and continues reading from where he stopped at. It’s already dark outside when he lays it down.

About an hour later he sits down to write and  he’s thinking about a quote from the book.

_“My imagination knows no peace. My heart no satisfaction.” What a spectacular way of saying your brain’s on fire while your heart’s in ashes. Do you want that for yourself? The answer should be no. It’s no way to live, and it’s definitely no way to write._

_I got to know her. My heart knows satisfaction and my mind has an answer. And she’s wonderful. And now I know exactly what makes her so. It’s not that she laughs at my jokes, it’s that the root of her nose wrinkles as she laughs._

 

-

 

It’s Thursday and somehow Thursdays have become Harry’s _going shopping so I don’t starve to death_ day.

He’s at the dairy products section, trying to decide how much milk he needs for the week, considering that he’s been out of it for two days and that his last week’s assessment obviously wasn’t quite accurate, when he gets a text. It’s an _I miss you_ text from Louis. He wonders if it is his further attempt at proving just how unpredictable he is. He also doesn’t feel missed. Certainly not by him.

He ignores it and decides that four litres of milk should definitely be enough. He’s putting three bags of Milky way magic stars in his trolley when his phone alerts him of another text.

_you need to stop ignoring me._

Harry doesn’t stop ignoring him.

_you have serious problems, you know that?_

He regrets the day he gave Louis his phone number.

He pays for his stuff, and gets another text, but he doesn’t bother checking it.

He's at home and sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop before he even puts away the groceries he bought. 

_You were just a fragile thing in a world full of sharp edges. You were like a butterfly expected to fly amongst thorns and come out without a scratch. And he was the rose who possessed the deadliest thorns. You learned not to fly amongst such roses anymore. Now you barely fly at all._

_Still, he expects you to. He believes that you can spread your wings and doesn’t consider that they still bear the consequences of his thorns._

_Such ugly words._

_Beautiful to me, but hideous to you._

_It’s amazing how we differ._


End file.
